


The Unspeakable Weight of Wishing

by velvetandstone



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Feeding, Feelings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food, Hair Washing, Hair-pulling, Haircuts, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Massage, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Smut, Soft boys being soft, Somewhat Unreliable Narrator, Threesome - M/M/M, Yuri is 16, cursing, deal with that as you will, more like emotional stress/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetandstone/pseuds/velvetandstone
Summary: “He looks pretty like that,” Viktor murmured as he approached, stopping somewhere over Yuri’s right shoulder. The ember in Yuuri’s gaze sparked into a blaze and Yuri was caught in it, unable to look away.“Yes, he does,” Yuuri agreed.______________________________________________I set out to write some run-of-the-mill smut and ended up with 15k+ words of emotional, touch-hungry Yuri and mindful Yuuri/Viktor who only want Yuri to be happy and calm for once in his gd life.





	1. Pillar of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> First fic :) Enjoy!

_You want to know what I was like?_  
_It was like my whole life had a fever._  
_Whole acres of me were on fire._  
_The sun talked dirty in my ear all night._  
_I couldn't drive past a wheatfield without doing it violence._  
_I couldn't even look at a bridge._  
_I used to go out into the brush sometimes,_  
_so far out there no one could hear me,_  
_and just burn._  
_I felt all right then._  
_I couldn't hurt anyone else._  
_I was just a pillar of fire._

* * *

 

           For the sixth time in as many days, Yuri Plisetsky kicked the dark wood door unnecessarily hard and waited to be let in. His scowl deepened when it did not open immediately. It had been…a bad day. He’d woken up energized, excited about the approaching weekend and the changes to one of his jump combinations he’d thought of the previous night. He’d hit the ice for the morning’s practice with energy, ignoring the rest of his lazy idiot rinkmates in favor of translating his idea into movement. But Yakov didn’t think the new jump combo fit his theme well enough, and nixed it entirely when Yuri kept falling on the second triple. And then Lilia had held him back long after class until the height of his cabriole was up to her satisfaction.

           He’d been in a dark cloud ever since, the artistic perfectionist in him still smarting at her evaluation of his poor skill. Plus his leg ached where he’d fallen; he probably should have gone to the trainers after practice, had them see to the scrape and any other damage he’d done but he hadn’t. He had no valid reason other than that the injury was not career-threatening but he knew himself well enough; their hands may have been perfunctory and their tones clipped but contact was contact and he’d die before letting them think him pathetic for lingering. To top everything off, he’d missed a call from Otabek when Lilia held him back. He almost never got to talk to his only friend now that the Grand Prix qualifiers were only a few weeks away and he’d have to wait until Monday to try again because Otabek was doing some stupid wilderness retreat thing with the rest of the Kazakh team all weekend.

           He was actually surprised the door hadn’t been open when he got here and he wished he had the power to burn a hole in it with his gaze. He felt like he might be able to melt the hinges just by touching them. It was as though he had been living in a fever for the last six months; anger, resentment, and loneliness broiling just below the surface, lava under the rough mantle of his skin. The gold medal at the last Grand Prix final hadn’t made a dent in the firewall; another gold at Europeans and even a silver at Worlds made no difference. He burned unrelenting and didn’t know how to bank the building pressure. Yakov had sent him to the team psychologist when Yuri’s distraction had laid waste to his signature spins and caused him to launch a string of profanities at one of his junior rinkmates, but the sessions were a waste of Yuri’s time. The man was friendly enough but he spouted off the most generic, textbook jargon and it grated on Yuri’s nerves. Nothing the man said addressed the hollow void in him that medals could no longer fill. Nothing spoke to the clawing tension, the physical gnawing need, the vast hunger that transcended consumption – there was a reason they called it _starved_ , Yuri thought.

           He kicked the door again and wondered if this time it would not open. This pattern was still new for them: Yuri would finish class at the studio, return to his dormitory apartment, shower, throw together something to eat, and trudge the three floors down to Viktor and Yuuri’s door. Yuuri had invited him for dinner sometime last week to talk about travel arrangements and sightseeing plans for the upcoming Grand Prix qualifiers and, as he hadn’t rescinded the invitation, Yuri just kept coming by. It was simply because their kitchen was better, he told himself, and the oven didn’t smoke up the place every time someone glanced at it. The young skater didn’t dwell much further on why he kept showing up, rattling their door in its hinges and scowling at the little metal nameplate by the apartment number: _Katsuki Y/Nikiforov V_. It certainly wasn’t because he liked their company; they were openly besotted these days and so physically affectionate it made Yuri gag to watch them. It definitely wasn’t because his apartment, on the far side of the building from the freeway and the elevator, took on an almost tomb-like silence in the waning hours of the day that not even Potya’s plaintive yowls could fill. He could crank up his television and blare music till his neighbors complained but the silence would still be there, an echoing roar in his head.

           The door finally opened and Yuri fixed his slipped scowl back in place. The Katsudon’s open face had been smiling back over his shoulder when he first appeared but settled into a sort of wary amusement when he saw his guest. The change did nothing to settle the unexplained nerves that clenched Yuri’s stomach.

           “Yurio, hello,” Yuuri said, no hint of surprise in his voice. Yuri’s eyes narrowed at the hated nickname but he settled for a derisive scoff instead of an outright insult. Yuuri tilted his head in that assessing way of his. “Come in.”

           Yuri slunk into the apartment as Yuuri examined the wood door. “We might have to get you a key to spare the door any more abuse,” he mused. Yuri rolled his eyes. The door was fine; he wasn’t dumb enough to damage government property when they could so easily track him down for the repair fee. And there was no way they’d give him a key to their precious love nest. Katsudon was always exaggerating. He could hear soft instrumental music playing somewhere in the apartment but he couldn’t pin down where. As he turned the corner, he saw Viktor standing at the kitchen counter in a pinstripe blue apron and slicing what looked like the breast of a chicken or turkey into long strips. The succulent smell of whatever they were cooking hit him in the face and he breathed deep of garlic and pepper and something warm and basily. Yuri dropped his covered plate on the counter and Viktor gave him one of his delighted, heart-face greetings.

           “Yurio!” The older man tried to give Yuri a friendly nudge with his shoulder but Yuri stayed stubbornly too far from his reach. “How is Potya?” Viktor was arranging the slices of meat onto two croissants. It smelled like heaven. Yuri wrinkled his nose for Viktor’s benefit.

           “She’s amazing, obviously,” he informed the older man even though it should have been obvious because his cat was always perfection. “Far superior to your dumb mutt.” Yuuri smiled at his words as he crossed to the other counter and picked up a half-full glass of red wine. Taking a sip, he rose up on his toes and hooked his chin over Viktor’s shoulder to look down at what he was doing.

           “That looks good,” he murmured and Viktor hummed in reply. Yuri pointedly tried not watch them, but he couldn’t help but wonder at the way Viktor’s head tilted to briefly touch the black hair and how Yuuri’s free hand caressed Viktor’s side almost absentmindedly as he pulled away, moving to the other counter and exchanging the glass for the knife he’d obviously put down to answer the door. The hollow space in Yuri whined, like a dog begging to go outside. He pushed it away, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the counter, using the excuse of looking around for their dog to avoid sticking his entire face into whatever it was Katsudon was chopping.

           “Where’s the mutt?”

           Viktor’s face fell and he sighed as he wrapped up the extra chicken. “Makkachin is at the kennel until Monday.”

           “Viktor’s getting him used to going there again,” offered Yuuri, “since it’s nearly competition season.” His voice was warm and indulgent as he chopped; that was definitely where the basil smell was coming from, Yuri thought. Yuuri finished and dumped everything on the chopping board into a large bowl at his elbow. He smiled at Viktor’s dejected face as he began stirring the contents of the bowl and Yuri caught the scent of something bitter. Viktor opened the small refrigerator and put his bundle inside, closing the door and leaning against it forlornly.

           “I miss him so much,” he pouted. Yuuri did not stop stirring his bowl but glanced over at Viktor with an eyebrow cocked.

           “He’s been gone five hours.”

           “I miss him!”

           Yuuri put down the spoon and bowl and turning, grabbed a handful of Viktor’s apron. “You’re ridiculous,” he grinned and pulled the silver-haired man down for a kiss that Viktor happily returned. Something in Yuri’s abdomen shifted; he could convince himself it was his stomach and no other vital organ.

           “Gross,” he protested with a turned lip. “Stop that.”

           The two men broke apart still smiling. Yuuri returned to his bowl and Viktor’s bright blue gaze turned on Yuri.

            “Oh Yurio, you don’t mean that,” said Viktor. His lips were pink. Yuri glared at the refrigerator and refused to look at them.

           “Don’t call me that.”

           Viktor huffed a laugh but did not respond. He busied himself doling out the contents of the bowl Yuuri handed him and Yuri tried not to close his eyes to better savor the succulent smell. He shuffled his weight off his protesting leg and found Yuuri’s eyes watching him. The brunet surveyed the blond, silently assessing his tightly crossed arms and the plate on the counter.

           “Do you need anything warmed up before we eat?” The question was banal and probably kindly meant. Yuri did, but he would not – could not in that moment – ask for it. He suddenly didn’t want Yuuri looking too closely at the food he had managed to throw together. It was fine for his own purposes but he knew it would look pathetic in the face of Yuuri and Viktor’s apparent culinary mastery. He could take care of himself, had been doing it for almost a decade now, and he didn’t need them assuming he couldn’t feed himself properly. He would invade their space, impose on their time, but he did not want their pity.

           “No, it’s fine.”

           “All right.”

           They brought their plates to the dining table and sat down. Yuuri and Viktor always insisted on eating at the table instead of on the sofa or even standing at the kitchen counter like any normal person. He could feel the other two men exchanging a glance before they started but Yuri ignored them, stabbing his fork into his plate and stuffing something on the cooler side of lukewarm into his mouth. Jazz played in the background and no one spoke as they began their meal. The food in his mouth had almost no taste but he could smell something herbed and delicious from his right. Trying very hard not to be obvious, he glanced at the food arrayed on the other two plates. They each had what looked like a chicken club layered with tomato and cheese, Viktor’s with some sort of green spread peaking out of the side. Next to that was a mixture of potatoes, beans, basil, and what might have been celery or artichoke. Yuri gave his own chipped plate a dirty look. Under his fork, a plain chicken breast sat forlornly on lank greens and the vinaigrette covering the cubed yams looked more greasy than appetizing.

           It wasn’t what he’d have chosen to eat but it was Friday and he was running low for the week. They were each in the middle of heavy competition training and the team nutritionist had full control over what they ate. She gave you options of course; they let you pick from a list and gave it to you in bulk. They even let you cook it to give you some semblance of control but they might as well have slid it on a plate through your door for all the freedom you had. Yuri knew there were recipe cards that came along with the bulk delivery each week but he could never get the hang of measuring _just_ this amount and simmering for _just_ this long, plus his oven threatened to burn down the building every time he came near it. The two or three basic food preparation skills he’d so far mastered – cook chicken, add sauce, microwave vegetables (which was as close as he got to ‘steaming’) – had gotten him through so far and he refused to learn anything more. The yogurt he’d been given to make up the extra calcium requirement demanded by his age sat neglected on the counter; he _hated_ yogurt. He’d choke it down later or, more likely, toss it in Yuuri and Viktor’s trash where it belonged.

           Viktor asked Yuuri something about his parents and Yuri slid the vegetables around his plate, trying to focus on nothing. It was something the psychologist kept nattering on about, how Yuri needed to _choose to let go_ and _allow things wash over him_ and _stop kicking people when they were annoying_ and _not let his inner monologue rule him_. Mindfulness, the man called it; forcing your brain to engage only with the current situation.

           It hadn’t worked yet. Too many things demanded Yuri’s attention to push them all away. He couldn’t think of nothing on the ice, where he was constantly adjusting sequences to wordlessly show Georgi, Viktor, and Mila that he didn’t care what they whispered about him because he was easily better than all of them. He couldn’t think of nothing when he was at the barre, pushing his protesting muscles into positions that were always _deeper_ and _longer_ and _more_. He definitely couldn’t think of nothing when he talked to Otabek, who filled his chest with strange, hot feelings he didn’t fully understand, or even when he was safe in his own little dormitory with it’s comforting poster-covered walls that nonetheless threw his own crowded, disorderly thoughts back at him unanswered.

           How could he think of nothing when he sat there in Viktor and Yuuri’s perfect little love nest with their happy banter and lingering glances and patently did not belong? How could he ignore how everything from their perfectly prepared food to their dumb tranquil music goaded him, got under his skin, reminding him that no matter how hard he pushed himself, they had already won an unstated competition to achieve an effortlessly happy life? He longed for that ease, that comfort, and at the same time hated them for displaying theirs so openly. He didn’t want an easy life and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much that they so obviously did. He craved the rush of competition and the inescapable bond of rivalry. He was _filled up with undue anger_ , the psychologist said, _restless_ and _unsatisfied_. Why should they want him around when he was unsettled the way he was, and why did he keep coming here to push his own face into these same awful feelings over and over again?

           Yuri pushed his plate away and cleared his throat, pulling himself forcefully from the quagmire of his own head. “I’m cutting my hair tomorrow,” he announced, interrupting whatever dull nonsense the two men were chatting about. Yuuri blinked at him, actual surprise evident in his half open mouth. Viktor’s reaction was, predictably, more dramatic.

           “No!” he cried, fork crashing to the table. “Yuri, you can’t! Your hair is so lovely. I thought you loved it long!”

           “It's just hair,” Yuri muttered, as though it meant nothing to him. Yuuri was looking at him again and he suddenly wished he’d kept quiet. “It doesn’t fit my theme this year and Yakov doesn’t want it getting in my way.”

           Viktor waved a hand dismissively, pushing his own silver plume out of his eyes and picking up his fork again. “Yakov will snap and growl but he is a bear with no bite. He won’t bring it up if you leave the hair as it is.”

           “Yeah, he will,” Yuri said flatly, crossing his arms and glaring at the older man. “He says he won’t tolerate long hair in the men’s seniors anymore, not after you. He says it makes us too willful.” Viktor’s eyebrows furrowed at that and he looked down at his plate. The silence that fell begged to be filled but Yuri didn’t know what else to say, and so settled for glaring off down the hallway over his left shoulder. After a moment, Yuuri spoke.

           “It looks nice shorter as well, Yuri,” he offered. “And surely he won’t require you to cut it all off. There is artistry there as well.”

           “No,” Yuri conceded. Somehow, the negation felt like giving up some of the weight of his dire pronouncement, but while he enjoyed his temporary role of martyr, he didn’t relish lying to the other man outright. “I’m not going to buzz cut it or anything. I’ll have to find a picture or something, though. I know the old hag is going to make a mess of it otherwise.”

           “I could do it for you,” offered Viktor. His tone was quiet, almost contrite. Yuri blinked.

           “He cuts my hair,” said Yuuri, smiling at his partner, though if that was meant as a warning or endorsement, Yuri couldn’t tell. He stared at them both, mouth slightly agape. Viktor cut his hair? Insane. Let scatterbrained, distractible Viktor near him with sharp objects? Hell no! The man could barely concentrate the length of a free skate, no way was Yuri letting him near his precious mane and scalp and skin with something that could cause serious permanent damage to his well being and reputation. Let artistic, long-fingered Viktor near enough to touch, even to run a hand through his now-shoulder length mane of hair? Absolutely not. Yuri valued his sanity too highly.

           “Okay,” he heard himself saying. What?? No, god, that’s not what he’d meant to say at all. He just wanted to leave, to dump his half-eaten dinner in the trash and flee back to his dorm where nothing happened but nothing challenged, but his mouth just kept on speaking and he was apparently powerless to stop it. “Just so long as you promise not to give me anything close to that ridiculous flap you have. I just want it flat across like it was last year.”

           Viktor’s grin was bright and wide, and he didn’t even seem to mind the insult to his prized lock. “Отлично,” he cried, clapping his hands together like some ecstatic cartoon character. Yuri thought briefly about withdrawing his consent – Viktor’s enthusiasm was hard for him to deal with on a good day – but Yuuri was standing and as he crossed behind Yuri’s chair, he laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. It took Yuri by surprise and telltale seconds elapsed before he remembered to shrug it off.

           “Bring your chair,” Yuuri said and he could hear the other man’s smile. Yuri glanced at his dinner plate but there was no way he was putting any more of that mess in his mouth. He stood and grabbed the wooden chair, following Yuuri to the kitchen and putting it down where he indicated. Viktor disappeared down the hallway, coming back after a few minutes arms laden with towels. Most of the towels he set down on the countertop; he shook out one large towel and had Yuri pick up the chair while he laid it out on the tiled kitchen floor. “To catch the hair,” he explained, and Yuri nodded, not knowing how else he was supposed to respond.

           “Let me help you with this,” Viktor said, indicating the oversized sweater hanging off Yuri’s shoulders. It had a pattern of rearing white tigers printed across it; it was one of the skater’s favorites and he eyed Viktor warily as his hands approached the beloved fabric. Viktor smiled. “It’ll get wet and covered in hair if you leave it on,” he said.

           Yuri nodded quickly; protecting the sweater was imperative. He reached up to pull the fabric over his head but Viktor’s hands were already at the hem, pulling it slowly up his abdomen, the knuckles of his fingers lightly grazing Yuri’s ribs through his black tank top. The younger man froze, not daring to breathe lest he somehow give the impression that the graze was unwelcome. He squeezed his elbows to his ears as Viktor pulled the sweater over his head and then strands of hair were cascading around his shoulders, having mostly escaped the elastic band he’d confined them to. He pulled the band the rest of the way out as Viktor handed the sweater to him with another amiable smile and turned to the sink. Yuri held the fabric in numb hands. He could still feel the tracks of the other man’s skin along his sides. He forced himself to move, half-folding the sweater and placing it on the kitchen counter.

           Turning back, he saw that Viktor held out a hand to him. Yuri stared at it. Could he actually do this? Let Viktor get this close, touch him, and still keep his grasping hunger hidden? He would be behind him most of the time, after all. Maybe if he kept quiet, he could pull it off. After a moment, Yuri stepped towards the man, not touching the outstretched arm but oh-so-close. The encouraging smile on Viktor’s face never wavered and his large hand settled warm between Yuri’s shoulder blades.

           “I know you probably just showered after class,” the older man said, voice low, “but we’ll just get your head wet again to help with the cut.”

           “Okay,” Yuri shrugged, desperate to show that he didn’t care. He’d be fucked if he couldn’t keep it together for one goddamn haircut, and he was Yuri Plisetsky dammit he could keep it together in any situation. Standing in only his sweatpants, boots, and tank top, Yuri let Viktor maneuver him to lean over the kitchen sink. The hand that had been resting on his back traced quickly up his neck, across his scalp, and helped turn the mass of Yuri’s hair over his head as the younger man suppressed a full-body shiver. He was definitely, _definitely_ fucked.

           Viktor turned the water on and waited until it reached the right temperature. Yuri focused on keeping himself completely still, hands resting safely on the lip of the sink and not reaching towards the hint of skin visible above Viktor’s waistband right in his eye line. When the water in the sink was making light clouds of steam, Viktor moved the spray onto Yuri’s head and a wave of heat swept over him. The water was warm, almost too hot, and it felt like a conduit of heat ran all the way down his spine. Viktor used his fingers to move the heavy layers of Yuri’s hair around, making sure the water reached all the way to his scalp; he cupped his hands over Yuri’s ears when the spray got too near, channeling the liquid harmlessly away. Every time he moved his arm, the sliver of skin visible over his hips got wider and smaller. Yuri swallowed painfully.

           In a bid to keep a hold on his rapidly shredding self-control, Yuri glanced back at the rest of the room. Upside down, he could see Yuuri puttering around the apartment, slowly reordering it from its dinner state and settling things for the evening. The dark haired man moved the dishes from the table into the kitchen and finished his glass of red wine, taking Viktor’s already empty one and setting them both on the counter by the sink. He moved the dining table back against the wall with the chairs and switched the music to some other genre of instrumental jazz. As he moved languidly through the room, turning off the overhead light and switching on accent lamps – _of course they have accent lamps_ – Yuri could hear Yuuri humming something. It seemed to weave in and out of the song currently playing through the speakers but he couldn’t make out the melody.

           The water shut off and Yuri realized Viktor was done, his head thoroughly soaked through and steaming. Viktor wrapped a towel around the dragging strands and squeezed the water out. He helped Yuri stand up straight, flipping his head over upright and nodding him towards the chair. He’d rolled his sleeves up at some point, Yuri noticed, and the steam from the sink had caused little beads of sweat to ring his hairline. Yuri quickly turned and sat down; the towel wouldn’t stay on his head and so he settled it over his shoulders. The lights in the apartment were soft now and the heat from his hair was seeping into the air surrounding his head. Enjoying the muted warmth, Yuri started to relax for what felt like the first time in weeks. He could hear Yuuri doing something with the leftover food but felt no impulse to investigate. A hand touched his shoulder through the towel and Viktor removed the cloth. Strands of hair fell damp and warm around Yuri’s face, but whenever they touched the bare skin of his shoulders they raised goose bumps on his arms. Viktor combed through the golden strands with his fingers, carefully untangling the small knots.

           “You have truly wonderful hair, Yuri,” he murmured, his fingers tugging a rhythmic pattern across the younger man’s head. Yuri blushed and hoped he could blame the pink flush on the heat of the water. “Healthy, shining, beautiful. I loved the feeling of long hair. It opened so many avenues for me that I had never thought to explore. It made me feel powerful and daring.” The fingers finished their untangling and began to card through the strands, straightening and rearranging. “But after I cut it, I realized that for some time I’d been using the length not as a gateway but as a shield, a hiding place. It was a statement I could shelter behind and no one would ask about the man underneath.” Viktor’s hands stilled as Yuuri stepped close and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek

           “You are powerful and beautiful no matter what your hair looks like,” Yuuri said, smiling the soft smile he seemed to reserve only for his partner. Viktor hummed, a happy pleased noise, and Yuri was glad he was seated and did not need to protest the romantic exchange. There was a tightness in his throat that he suspected wouldn’t have allowed speech anyway. He was caught off guard then when Yuuri’s small, calloused hand dropped to Yuri’s shoulder and squeezed lightly before he moved away. _Fucked_ _fucked_ _fucked_.

           He could feel the beginnings of panic rising in his chest. He couldn’t pull this off, they were definitely going to see right through him, and he had no place here. Before he could stand and flee, Viktor’s long fingers were carding though his hair again and the tips pressed down on either side of his head and pulled. Yuri _melted_. The fingers moved back along the muscles encasing his skull, pressed into the ridges of his temples, and pulled out tension he hadn’t realized was there. The pressure was good _so good_ , like the break of the first thunderstorm of spring, like the crack of lightning. Yuri felt like butter in the sun, like the base of a waterfall thundering and then deep. Sparks flowed down his neck and raised bumps on his arms and a small, warm noise escaped his throat.

           He flushed with embarrassment but Viktor’s fingers never faltered and Yuuri’s quiet cleaning went on uninterrupted. He quickly settled back into the decadent enjoyment of Viktor’s strong fingers pushing into his head. He didn’t know touch could feel this way. Why didn’t people do this all the time? This feeling could never go on too long, he thought; this feeling could kill him and he’d welcome it gladly.

           The fingers left his scalp and Yuri bit back hard on the whine rising in his throat. _Don’t be a brat_ , he berated himself, _not now_. Viktor picked up a comb and began separating the hair into layers and sections, combing it straight in long steady strokes. The pace was meditatively slow and the comb traced a delicious scratch along his newly sensitive scalp, and Yuri closed his eyes, letting himself revel in the warm melty feeling that had overtaken his bones.

           “Yuri,” came Yuuri’s voice from somewhere near the living room, “how is your leg feeling?” His voice sounded different somehow, curt and strangely firm. It was not threatening but compelling, seemingly at home in the low light and warm air. A slight frown turned the boy’s lip; he didn’t want to rise out of the comforting repetition of Viktor’s task and so he made a noncommittal noise in his throat and kept his eyes closed.

           This time when Yuuri spoke, he was closer. “You landed on it five or six times that I saw,” he said, his tone that of a man who would not be ignored. “It looked painful. What did the trainer say about it? Will you have to take any time off?”

           Yuri sighed. When he thought back to the morning’s disastrous practice he could remember very well the feeling of crashing to the unforgiving ice, but the embarrassment that had burned so painfully in the rink seemed only an echo now. Without the fiery shame boiling inside him he felt no real impulse to make up a story for the older man, and an unusual feeling that had been growing in him since the water had touched his head seemed to whisper that he maybe didn’t have to lie.

           “I, uh, didn’t…go…to the trainers.”

           “Yuuurrrrri.” The Katsudon had clearly picked up that particular pleading tone from Viktor, but Viktor’s voice had never been so deep. It seemed to thrum along Yuri’s ribs and he opened his eyes to see Yuuri standing a foot from his knees, frowning down at him. He tried to raise his head to meet the gaze but Viktor pushed it back down level, and he had to examine the brown gaze from between his lashes. “You know how dangerous repetitive injuries are,” Yuuri continued. “You could have torn something and not even know it yet.”

           “I feel fine!” Yuri barked, rolling his eyes since he couldn’t do a full body shrug at the ridiculous notion that he’d endanger his competition season in any way. Viktor tugged on the strand of hair he was arranging and Yuri automatically took his tone down a peg. “It’s not a repetitive injury, Katsudon, I just wrong-footed the landing a couple times. I would know if I’d torn something, it doesn’t even hurt.”

           “You’ve been favoring it all night.”

           _Crap_. “Okay, maybe it hurts a little,” Yuri conceded, caving to the no-nonsense set of Yuuri’s jaw. It was starting to annoy him that the older man thought he’d ever let anything so reckless put his season in jeopardy. “But half of that is stupid Lilia’s fault and I work a lot harder than you, Katsudon; my legs always hurt.” Viktor tugged on his hair again but Yuri didn’t feel like being conciliatory any more. Did Yuuri really think he was that shortsighted, willing to throw away all his hard work because he was…what? Lazy? Moronic?

           “I know you work hard, Yuri,” said the older man. It wasn’t flattery, it was just a statement, and Yuri was confused again. “You really should get these things checked out though, they may not feel the same way they used to.” Yuuri’s head tilted. “Your body’s changing. You must have noticed. I went through the same thing, except I wasn’t European champion at the time.”

           There it was. Yuri’s waking ever present nightmare – that his body would change faster than he could keep up with it, knocking him off the podium and making way for more settled athletes that he’d never catch up to. His lengthening bones hounded him; sometimes they ached so badly he felt like he’d slept on a stretching rack instead of a bed. New muscle he couldn’t anticipate kept knocking his balance off center and he was having to devote more and more minutes of each practice to just reacquainting his body with the most basic movements. He knew he was the scion of the Russian skating dynasty, even with Viktor’s return to the competition circuit. Viktor’s skill – artistic, legendary, ephemeral – would not last forever and Yuri knew the FFKKR administrators watched him when he practiced, when he competed, when he so much as breathed. They knew what he ate and when he travelled; he wasn’t naïve enough to think they didn’t know exactly what he said to the psychologist. And for the most part, he didn’t resent any of it. He and the FFKKR shared a goal, for now, and he was happy to accept their hovering presence in his life if they helped him become the best in the world. He would be _the best_ , no matter what it took. But there were times, like on the ice this morning and like right now in this chair, eyes locked on that steady brown gaze and panic rising in his chest, that the gulf between where he was and where he needed to be was staggering.

           “I was.” Viktor’s soft voice broke the tension like a wave and the panic washed back out of Yuri’s chest. The older Russian’s hand was still on Yuri’s head, cupping it absentmindedly. His fingers must have settled in a curve because Yuri could feel the nails resting on his scalp. The voice sounded far away, dreamy, detached. “The pressure, the expectations – it’s unbelievable.”

           Yuri watched as the Katsudon’s face dissolved into something unspeakably tender. Yuuri seemingly had eyes for Viktor alone and the hollow in Yuri cried out to that gaze. Yuuri stepped to the taller man’s side and slid a hand down his arm.

           “I’d forgotten that,” Yuuri murmured. Viktor had so many laurels to his name, had been preeminent and peerless for so long that it was sometimes easy to forget that he’d started his rise so early in life. Yuuri and Viktor held hands for a moment and a gentle comfort seemed to radiate from their bodies, oh-so-close to Yuri’s own. Yuuri lifted his chin and dropped a kiss on the shadow of Viktor’s jaw. “Sweet Vitya.”

           Having Yuuri no longer directly in front of him seemed to have given Yuri’s mind the space it needed to refocus. Weirdly, he felt like his usual gag or throat clear would be too crude in the face of their affection and so settled on shifting in the chair, damp hair swinging free and replastering itself to his shoulders.

           “I know all this,” he groused. “I can take care of myself.” _Fuck._ It didn’t even sound convincing in his head.

           “But why should you,” Yuuri asked, “When we can help?” That strange voice was back and Yuri could feel his defenses crumbling even as he desperately tried to shore them up. “I’d like to look at that leg, if you’ll let me.”

           Why was he fighting this, Yuri asked himself? It was just a dumb scrape and probably a pretty spectacular bruise by now. Did he want to die on the battlefield of a stupid fall scrape?

           “You’re such a ворчащая ьаьушка,” he muttered but the venom was gone from his voice and when he shook his head he had to bite back a smile. “Okay, whatever, do what you want but I’m telling you it’s fine.”

           Another hand came down on his head and cupped it affectionately. “Thank you, Yurio,” said Yuuri, and he moved away from Viktor to grab something from beneath the kitchen sink. When he straightened, Yuri could see it was a first aid kit.

           Viktor resumed combing through Yuri’s hair while Yuuri moved around to kneel down by Yuri’s right leg. The young skater suddenly found himself overwhelmed with sensation. The room was warm and fragrant; the soft music provided a soothing background for the whisper of the comb through wet strands and the sharp _thwick_ as the Katsudon pulled laces through the grommets in Yuri’s boot. Yuuri removed his right boot and then, for some unexplained reason, the left as well. As soon as they were free, Yuri reflexively stretched each foot into point and flex, feeling the delicious extension of the tendons and pull of the muscles along his shins. Yuri closed his eyes again as Yuuri started gently rolling up the right leg of his sweatpants, but whether he was trying to minimize or maximize his sensory input was something he refused to delve into.

           Finally satisfied with the sections he’d divided, Viktor reached back to the kitchen counter and grabbed the shears he’d set out. Yuuri ran his fingers along the lump of the bruise that skirted the outside of Yuri’s knee and the angry red scrape that sat on top of it. He set a warm cloth across the area and pressed down ever so slightly, just enough to pull another whimper from Yuri’s throat. Even that small amount of pressure magnified the hurt, but the heat on the broken blood vessels was incredibly soothing. The fingers of Yuuri’s free hand pressed rhythmically deep into the tight muscle of Yuri’s calf, releasing the tension there and pulling attention from the injury. Yuri let his attention be drawn, letting his mind float into a warm haze.

           For all the time Viktor had taken to arrange the strands to his satisfaction, he made quick work of the cut. The _tchasshhkt_ of the blades cutting through the hair was quick and precise. The sudden air on the back of his neck in combination with the drag of Yuuri’s fingers along the short hairs of his leg sent Yuri into a full body shiver. Still, as the shorn hair swung in half-dry waves around his chin, he felt suddenly powerful again. His long hair hadn’t felt weak but this…this is where his strength lived. Yuri stretched his neck, feeling the corded power in the ligaments there, feeling like his revealed jawline could cut glass, or ice. Viktor’s fingers traced down the column of Yuri’s neck as he stretched, cataloging the tension there and pulling it from those muscles as he had earlier from the boy’s head. Yuri’s eyes fluttered; the vulnerability of having those fingers pressing on the naked skin of his throat clashed with the power flowing through his jaw line, making him feel weak and flushed. As Viktor’s fingers moved to push the tension from the muscles at the base of the boy’s skull, Yuuri ran something cold across his injured knee and sudden burning pain shot down to his heel. Yuri hissed loudly.

           “Breathe,” came Yuuri’s steady, deep voice and somehow Yuri did, pulling in long slow breaths through his nose and out through his mouth as Viktor’s fingers matched his pace. His tongue buried itself against his front teeth and his eyes pressed tightly closed, and the burn of the antiseptic slowly faded to a dull ache as he breathed through the pain. “Good, Yuri,” encouraged the Katsudon, sounding pleased and running his hand ran up the inside of Yuri’s calf again.

           “If you keep doing that, I’m going to kick you,” Yuri muttered in between breaths, desperate for anything to distract from the pain. While the Katsudon huffed a laugh at his response, Viktor’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the back of Yuri’s neck. Yuri’s spine straightened involuntarily at the feeling, a small shudder shaking the strands of hair against his jutting jaw, his awareness of his leg fading rapidly and something ravenous awakening in his core.

           “Control yourself, little tiger,” smiled Yuuri, wrapping a graceful hand around Yuri’s ankle, fingers playing lightly with the raised bump of old scar tissue just next to the raised bump of bone, a relic of how hard the prodigy pushed himself, would always push himself. Yuuri’s voice held a question and Viktor’s hand still rested firm at the base of his neck. Yuri could feel the proud line of his jaw cutting a line through the suddenly suffocating air. He could debate with himself about the myriad possible responses he could throw out, agonize about repercussions and feelings, but if he was honest with himself for once his decision had been made long ago. _This_ was why he kept returning, _this_ was why he dragged his firestorm back time and time again to the cool rush of their waterfall. He finally opened his eyes and gave them time to slowly find Yuuri’s, watching him steadily from his crouched position at the boy’s feet.

           “And what if I don’t?”

           The older man’s eyes brightened but his lips stayed in the same unmoving line. He tipped his head to the side, evaluating the young Russian. For the briefest of seconds the gaze flitted up to where Yuri assumed it could meet Viktor’s, and then dark brown meet green once again.

           “We can make you, if you want.”

           Yuri’s mouth went dry. He tried to think of a smart response, summon something _anything_ with even a hint of attitude but his mind had gone completely blank, filled up only with that steady brown gaze and the warm hand holding his neck. He nodded slowly, hoping it would be enough.

           He should have known better. The hand at his neck adjusted so the fingertips splayed near the hollow of his clavicle and Yuuri shook his head. “You have to use your words, tiger,” he murmured, gazing up at Yuri’s open countenance.

           Yuri swallowed, harder than he expected. “Yes,” he managed, his voice moving through two or three tones on its way out. He tried not to be flustered by that and failed.

           The soft angles of Yuuri’s face melted into a smile and Yuri felt warmth rise from somewhere behind his sternum. Yuuri’s hand released the boy’s ankle and trailed fingernails softly up and down the back of his leg.

           “What do you want?” It was Viktor who asked this time, his softly accented English coming from somewhere above Yuri. Yuri tried to turn his head to the voice but couldn’t, Viktor’s hand keeping him in place.

           “You,” he whispered. Then, turning his gaze back to Yuuri’s, desperate for the reassuring contact of the shared gaze, he heard another word slip from his throat. “Please.”

           “Good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much for reading, it means the world to me!
> 
> Grammar and spelling edits made 9/17/17.
> 
> This turned into two chapters when I wasn’t paying attention; the second chapter is half finished and a daily distraction. A sequel is sketched out but not yet written. This is my first public fic; please be kind, or at least constructive. Not beta’d, not my characters, just playing in the sandbox, etc.
> 
> Excerpt at the start is from Nico Alvarado’s “Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls”. 
> 
> According to Google translate...  
> Отлично = otlichno/“excellent”  
> Ворчащая ьаьушка = vorchashchaya babushka/“nagging grandma”
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr at velvetandstone :)


	2. Into the Heart of You

_I felt all right then_   
_I couldn't hurt anyone else_   
_I was just a pillar of fire_   
_It wasn't the burning so much as the loneliness_   
_It wasn't the loneliness so much as the fear of being alone_   
_Christ, look at you pouring from the rocks_   
_You're so cold you're boiling over_   
_You've got stars in your hair_   
_I don't want to be around you_   
_I don't want to drink you in_   
_I want to walk into the heart of you_   
_and never walk back out_

* * *

 

           Yuri blushed. He should be laughing, he thought; who actually used those words and expected them to be taken seriously? He wanted to scoff, prove he didn’t need the other man’s praise, but the sound wouldn’t come. Yuuri’s voice had washed warm over his chest and lodged the words there, glowing and his alone. They warmed the space between his ribs as he watched Yuuri stand and as the older man’s trailing fingers lifted to swept across the tips of his new-shorn hair. And then Yuuri turned and walked away into the living room without a backwards glance.

           The warmth in his chest faltered and rose into his cheek. Yuri was confused. Had he not been clear enough? Should he follow? Should he try again? Maybe he’d read the situation wrong and pushed too far when they were only being polite. Was this the way Yuuri – _endlessly patient, generous Yuuri_ – would reject him? His blush increased as embarrassment veered quickly towards anger. Viktor’s hand on the back of his neck tightened slightly and then let go, and Yuri was just as suddenly bereft of touch as he’d been inundated a minute before. Anger melted into uncertainty and a soft whine of loss echoed unbidden in his throat.

           But then there were Viktor’s hands again, holding a towel and efficiently roughing the last of the dampness from Yuri’s now thoroughly disheveled hair. “Hush,” was Viktor’s amused response to the plaintive sounds slipping from Yuri’s throat. “Let me clean you up first. He hasn’t abandoned you.”

           Yuri swallowed the whine and a sullen retort, willing for now (and more keen than he’d like to admit) to take Viktor at his word. He could feel the worry settling into the muscles of his neck though, replacing some of the lazy laxness the older man had worked so hard to impart. Viktor tossed the towel to the side and Yuri felt him sweep something across the back of his neck. It felt like a paint brush but larger, and it was as sinfully soft as the sable fur stole Lilia kept locked in her closet. It traced slowly across the line of Yuri’s shoulders, catching and pushing away the tiny hairs that had settled there, and Yuri enjoyed the pleasant glide of the silky fibers. Then Viktor slid the shoulders of his tank top to the sides to sweep Yuri’s front. The second the feathery bristles touched the tight skin over his clavicles Yuri gasped, his shoulders caving involuntarily inward away from the tool. Viktor froze, fearful that he’d somehow hurt the younger man. Yuri’s eyes were wide, his mouth as well, his own physical reaction taking him completely by surprise. When he caught sight of Yuri’s expression, Viktor’s shoulders relaxed and the fear in his eyes was replaced with something like delight.

           “Sensitive?” he wondered.

           “I guess,” Yuri managed. He forced his body back into place, nodding to Viktor that he was fine, and then felt a delicious dread as the brush reconnected with his skin. The dragging bristles left a trail of embers in their wake; it felt like an itch, like a burn, like champagne bubbles popping all across his skin. It took all the willpower he could summon to avoid the visceral urge to twitch away. Viktor dragged the brush leisurely across the gracefully arching bones of Yuri’s upper chest, an exquisite torture of sensation that Yuri tried to conquer by focusing his eyes on the ceiling. The younger man’s breath shook as he forced it through a throat that kept involuntarily clenching. Once the brush reached his other shoulder, Viktor leaned down and blew cool air across the breadth of exposed skin. Yuri’s shudder nearly put his shoulder into the older man’s face.

           “Bastard,” Yuri muttered when he regained control of his voice. Viktor laughed, throaty and rich. Yuri’s gaze returned from the ceiling and he caught Yuuri watching his face from where he had settled on the sofa. A flush engulfed Yuri’s cheeks.

           It was unnerving, the way Yuuri reclined seemingly content just to watch them and run his fingers along the back of the cushions. The Japanese skater had been a threat for so long that seeing him relaxed and at home was still a bit jarring for Yuri. All these months Yuri had seen the other man every day and still Yuuri was an unknown. Yuri just couldn’t pin him down. First he was a nondescript skater in the midranks who somehow made it to the Grand Prix Final. Then he was a mass of nerves, crashing out and crying in a public bathroom like a child. Then he was the life of the party, breathtakingly fluid and entrancing. And then suddenly Viktor had just up and disappeared and Yuuri was the reason why. Viktor wasn’t Yuri’s, he didn’t want to lay claim to Viktor per se, but he’d unequivocally had Viktor first. Viktor – flighty and insufferable – had been a constant since Yuri had been in beginners. He’d been at the rink every day, waiting for the children’s classes to end, laughing with Mila and the older skaters, a silver-haired pillar holding up the Russian team. And then out of nowhere, Yuuri had snatched him away. Yuri didn’t have many constants and Viktor’s disappearance had set him badly on edge. Yuuri was the Outside, everything Yuri had been trained to conquer and disregard, but Yuri couldn’t disregard him. He’d expected to hate the other man when he finally tracked Viktor down but Yuuri had welcomed him into his home, wished him luck during competitions, even tried to hug him at one point. And then Yuuri had brought Viktor back to St. Petersburg, returned him to his team and to Yuri, and taken every opportunity to be kind to the younger man. Yuri had found himself watching the older skater over these past months, desperately trying to understand what Yuuri wanted of him. But as much as Yuri pushed, the other man didn’t seem to want anything but Yuri’s company. It was unsettling.

           After a long moment where Viktor busied himself doing god-knew-what and the Yuris just stared at each other, Yuuri sat up. He smiled his small knowing grin.

           “Come here, Yura.”

           Yuri glanced back at where Viktor stood by the counter. The older man caught his eye and raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask, _are you going or not?_ Yuri rolled his eyes to cover his momentary hesitance and pushed himself out of the chair, straightening his top and walking to where Yuuri was lounging almost indolently on the sofa.

           “Stop,” Yuuri said when Yuri reached the center of the room. This close, Yuuri’s eyes were burning with intensity and Yuri flushed hotly, not knowing why he felt suddenly so out of sync with his own skin. He routinely stood before arenas of countless screaming people dressed only in skin-tight velour and spandex. Why should that be easier than standing before the Katsudon here in their living room with the lights low and distant music the only sound?

           Yuuri sat up fully and then stood. He strolled in a slow circle around Yuri, patting him lightly on the ass as he passed behind. “Nice,” Yuuri said with a smirk when he’d made it back around to face Yuri again. Viktor chuckled dryly from the kitchen and Yuri spared him a quick withering glare.

           Yuuri’s fingers on his chin pulled Yuri’s focus back. “I’d like your attention on me tonight, unless I tell you differently. Understand?” Yuri felt a sudden ache in his abdomen, a pull towards…he didn’t know what, but it almost burned in its intensity and made him lightheaded. He nodded, forcing his breathing into a slow stream through his nose to calm himself. “That’s it, Yuri,” Yuuri murmured. “Be good and Viktor and I will take care of you.

           “Will it hurt your leg if you kneel down?” Yuuri asked, eyes appraising. Yuri didn’t think so; it was mostly numb now from whatever salve the older man had put on it and he said as much. Yuuri nodded, his lips curving in a soft smile. “Then do it.”

           Yuri thought this should feel stranger than it did. Everything was slightly larger from the vantage of his knees – the furniture, the room – but he didn’t feel smaller. The carpet was prickly on his kneecaps. He could feel excitement beginning to pool in his stomach, the same feeling of nerves he got when walking in to a new rink on the first day of competition. He should probably sit back on his heels if he was going to be here for a while. Was he? What if Yuuri just wanted him to sit here, maybe repeat the completely useless exercises the psychologist had given him? If that was the case, could he say no? What if Yuuri didn’t want to touch him at all? How much of his body needed to be actively engaged to show that his attention was focused on the older man? He shifted, trying to hide how his eyes kept darting from Yuuri’s face to his hands, his shoulders, the hollow of his throat. But Yuuri saw.

           “I can hear you thinking, Yura,” he mused, watching as Yuri tried not to fidget. “You’ve been practically shouting all night. For months, honestly.” Yuri’s eyes narrowed. The Katsudon didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. _Shouting_ – ha. Except for one or two outbursts, Yuri thought he’d kept himself remarkably restrained over the summer. He rarely so much as spoke to any of them on the ice, focused as he was on his own programs, and never felt the desire to impose himself on their boring company outside of practice. And that junior had skated into him, so it wasn’t his fault she’d gone to pieces when he’d pointed her incompetence out to her dumb face. And dinner imposition didn’t count either, since Yuuri had invited it.

           “You’re doing it again.” Yuuri’s head tilted and there was something almost rueful in the way he watched the kneeling young man. “I know that feeling. When your thoughts are constantly swirling around, always ratcheting upward and unable to settle. It’s worst for me just before competitions. It seems to have gotten worse for you since the Grand Prix final.”

           Yuri watched Yuuri watching him, guarded and unsure. That wasn’t right, he thought. Katsudon had panic attacks, that he knew, and definitely suffered from caring about things way too much, but those things had never affected Yuri. He’d never before been anxious before a skate, never been immobilized by fear or uncertainty. Sure, there were times when he’d lost focus, gotten distracted, but being thrown off by worry wasn’t his style. The stresses that weighed others down had never affected him. He was the Ice Tiger; nothing frightened him. _Tigers don’t cower_.

           The rueful smile tugged at Yuuri’s mouth. “I know it’d be useless to ask you to try and clear your mind. That would probably only send you spiraling more. Instead, I’d like you to try something else, something that I’ve found has some better results.” Yuri didn’t know what Yuuri had in mind but it didn’t sound like meditation and that made him happy. Plus, if _Yuuri_ wanted him to try it, he _supposed_ he could humor him. The air at his shoulder shifted and he felt rather than saw Viktor step closer.

           “Viktor is going to place you in a particular position,” Yuuri said. “I’d like you to focus on maintaining your form exactly as he arranges you.” Viktor’s hand settled lightly on his shoulder and Yuri automatically pulled a face. Yuuri’s eyes narrowed.

           “And no more scowling – I don’t want to see your eyebrows touching again tonight.” Yuri bit back a retort and forced the muscles of his face to relax, pushing the wrath out in a deep exhale. “Good,” complimented Yuuri.

           _Are you ever going to stop blushing at that word?_

           Viktor began to gently but insistently adjust the positioning of Yuri’s limbs, his hands skimming over the thin barrier of cloth that separated his cool fingers from Yuri’s warm skin. He pushed at Yuri’s flesh like it was modeling clay and Yuri went along. Yuuri watched for a moment and then continued.

           “Yuri, I want you to focus on the feeling of your limbs in relation to each other. See how they interconnect, feel the shape you create; find the grace in each plane and line the same as you would in the studio.” Viktor ran a hand up Yuri’s spine, straightening the column and aligning it to balance over his hips. The length felt good, proud and self-contained. Then he shaped each foot into a careful point and settled Yuri back until his ass was resting on them. “Think of the shape you make in relation to the room as a whole, to the position of the furniture, to Viktor and I.”

           Viktor widened the younger man’s bent knees until they were spread a little beyond shoulder width apart. Yuri knew his flexibility allowed for more and tried to push them further but Viktor pushed them just as insistently back to the forty-five degree angle. He smoothed his hands out along the wide plane of Yuri’s shoulders, pushing them back and down, tracing down the elegant arms to the elbows which he took and folded behind the young man’s back. He cupped each hand around the opposite elbow, running his fingers over the box they made to ensure everything was securely fixed.

           “Can you feel the position you’re in right now?” Yuri nodded slightly, focusing on the angle of his hips, the length of his spine, the sharp bones settled into each of his palms. “Good. You are not to move from this position until given permission. You may nod or shake your head in answer if you like. If you have an itch or need a drink or anything adjusted, you will ask and we will take care of it for you. Do you think you can do that?”

           “Yes,” Yuri bit out, sharp and quick. Yuuri smiled. He’d baited Yuri’s competitive side and Yuri had fallen for it. Yuri managed to catch the scowl before it crossed his brow and he let his gaze settle on Yuuri’s face. The smile faded.

           “If you can’t manage to keep still,” Yuuri said, “you’ll have to spend some time with you eyes closed, to give you time to refocus. We’ll start with thirty seconds. Do you understand?” Yuri nodded again but he didn’t think it was really necessary. He’d held harder positions for Lilia a hundred times. He started to unconsciously resettle one foot, caught himself, and stilled. _Focus, Plisetsky_.

           “You did well with Viktor just now,” Yuuri offered, his thoughtful gaze sliding along Yuri’s carefully arranged limbs, never settling in one place. “I mean, you allowed him to touch you fairly extensively. I thought that maybe you don’t like others touching you.” The brown gaze rested on Yuri’s face, guileless and thoughtful. “It’s completely all right if that’s how you feel, it’s a common inclination. I know a lot of people who prefer to keep others at a distance.”

           Remaining still and keeping his attention on Yuuri was muddling the sharp edge of his reason. Yuri wanted to correct the older man but his jaw just worked soundlessly, trying to form words his brain hadn’t settled on. How could he put words to something he didn’t fully understand himself? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be touched, at least that wasn’t the whole of it. He certainly didn’t want just anyone touching him. It was just that whenever someone he wasn’t opposed to sent an affectionate gesture his way he clammed up, terrified they’d pull away mocking him, petrified that he’d end up clinging to them, refusing to let go and making an idiot of himself. That would only send them scurrying as far away from him as they could. How could he possibly convey all that and keep Yuuri’s respect? Were there any words that wouldn’t make him sound pathetic and weak? He couldn’t think of any that came close, and so tried to convey his confused thoughts with his eyes.

          Yuuri was watching him again with that penetrating gaze. He seemed to understand Yuri’s inability to vocalize. “We all experience touch in different ways,” he mused, as though he were trying to work out a riddle on a long car trip. “Viktor, you may have noticed, is very tactile. He’ll drape himself all over you if you give him the chance. I like to touch but only with people I know. Even then, there are so many times when the pressure riding on the smallest bit of contact gets overwhelming. A lot of the time I have trouble reading the situation to know if it’s welcome or appropriate. You, I think, can understand that.” Yuri nodded, throat a little tight.

            “Are you averse to the idea of me touching you?” Yuuri asked. Yuri shook his head vehemently, still too overwhelmed to form the words but wanting to be clear.

           “Maybe just unused to the feeling?” Yuri’s eyes shut slightly when he nodded this time. He didn’t know how the other man had managed to understand something he could barely wrap his own head around but he was immensely relieved that he had. He opened them to see Yuuri’s soft smile again, beatific and satisfied. The same warmth he’d felt earlier settled again into his chest as the thought crept into his head that he had helped bring that expression to the older man’s face. He only vaguely noticed as Yuuri pulled one of the dining chairs over next to him and asked Viktor to bring him something from the kitchen. Yuri let himself drift for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the soft angles of Yuuri’s face, both a soothing contrast to the ache just beginning to form in his shoulders.

           He pulled his attention away from the rosy tint of Yuuri’s cheek when he realized that what the other man had asked for was the bowl of leftovers from their dinner. Viktor handed it to Yuuri and retreated out of Yuri’s line of sight. Yuuri took the spoon in hand and stirred the contents of the bowl. The savory aroma caught Yuri’s nose and his stomach clenched.

           “You hardly touched your dinner,” Yuuri said, lifting a spoonful of food from the bowl and offering it to Yuri. “Can’t have you starving away, can we?” Yuri looked at the spoon for a moment and then back up at Yuuri. He could smell vinaigrette and he willed his stomach to stop growling. For a moment, Yuuri looked confused and uncertain which made Yuri feel confused and uncertain _дерьмо did I mishear him?_ Then something clicked in Yuuri’s eyes. He smiled, somehow both abashed and pleased.

           “You can move to the spoon,” he said. Yuri swallowed his relief and stretched toward the offered mouthful. Even cold, the flavor burst on his tongue and Yuri closed his eyes so he could commit the taste to memory. He could see the white beans and artichokes heaped on the spoon, could taste the sundried tomatoes, the basil, and the bits of herbed chicken Yuuri must have shredded and stirred in. It was laughably better than his paltry attempt at a meal and the ache in his stomach, actual hunger this time, allayed any awkwardness he might have felt at being hand fed on his knees by a grown man.

           Yuuri continued to offer him spoonfuls of the delicious food and Yuri continued to accept it, chewing slowly to savor the taste and trying to remember to straighten his spine each time he returned to his position. He could hear Viktor busy behind him, probably cleaning up the rest of the mess they’d made cutting his hair. Yuuri seemed content to watch him eat, ensuring he’d finished one mouthful before offering him the next. Slowly, the gnawing in his stomach settled into pleasant fullness and Yuuri eventually let the spoon rest in the bowl. Viktor was suddenly there, taking the bowl back and handing Yuuri a glass with a bendy straw sticking out of the top. Yuri couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that but gladly took a long sip of the cool water when Yuuri offered it to him. He met Yuuri’s gaze after he’d put the glass down on the table, chasing the lit ember in the back of the coffee brown eyes.

           Yuuri looked at him steadily for a moment, seeming to drink in the sharp planes of his face, the taut position of his frame. Yuri was suddenly very away that he had some residue of dressing on his chin but he wasn’t allowed to move to wipe it away. Yuri felt rather than saw Viktor move towards them.

           “He looks pretty like that,” he heard the older man murmur as he approached, stopping somewhere over Yuri’s right shoulder. The ember in Yuuri’s gaze sparked into a blaze and Yuri was caught in it, unable to look away.

           “Yes, he does,” Yuuri agreed. Then Yuuri leaned in and licked the residue of dressing away until finally his lips were pressed against Yuri’s mouth and he was kissing Yuri with a thoroughness that made the younger man’s toes curl. Yuri froze for a second, brain overcome by wet and warmth and _да_ , but as Yuuri laid a few fingers on the side of his jaw, he let himself relax and lean into the warmth. Yuuri deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into Yuri’s mouth to explore and Yuri eagerly did the same. Yuuri was smiling when he eventually pulled away, heat and affection in his eyes.

           The fingers at Yuri’s jaw slipped to caress his bare shoulder and were joined there by Viktor’s. Viktor’s other hand landed gently on Yuri’s other shoulder, drawing his attention, and as the younger man craned his neck up and back to catch the sky blue gaze, Viktor leaned down and covered his mouth in a hungry kiss. He tasted different than Yuuri but he burned just as hot, tongue invading Yuri’s mouth in a long languid sweep. Yuri felt vulnerable, open, the extreme angle of his neck forcing him to rely on Viktor’s hands to keep his balance, the tension kindling a desire for more. Viktor pulled back before Yuri was ready, grinning and running a hand up through Yuri’s hair, tugging it gently. Yuri rolled his neck against the grip, happy to find the tension unchanging.

           “He’s certainly enthusiastic,” Yuuri commented, his burning gaze watching Viktor now. Yuri didn’t know how he made his voice so calm, after that. His own heart was pounding in his ears.

           “I expected nothing less,” replied Viktor, the grin still plastered on his face, a strange hint of pride in his tone. “He does always insist on being the best.”

           “Hey idiots, I’m in the room,” Yuri ground out, hand waving to get their attention. They didn’t need to talk over his head, he was right there. Yuuri’s gaze caught on the hand and he _tsk’d_.

           “Yuuurrriii.” His voice was both amused and dismayed and it took Yuri a second to work out why. When he realized his mistake, he quickly returned his arm to its previous position, dropping his eyes in embarrassment. Viktor’s fingers unthreaded from his hair. “Close your eyes,” Yuuri directed, voice again firm. “I don’t want to see them open until I say. If I see green, we’ll have to get a blindfold.”

           Yuri’s eyes widened at _that_ particular mental image but he quickly schooled himself and closed them, unconsciously resettling his shoulders.

           “Thirty seconds,” Yuuri reminded him, “starting now.”

           Yuri’s eyes instantly demanded to open again. He pressed them tighter, irritated at his own contrary urge as his lashes shook minutely against his cheek. It was thirty measly seconds; if he couldn’t manage that he might as well get up and leave now. He tried to regain his center and focus but deprived of his sight, he was instantly more aware of his body and what was happening around it. The dull ache in the juncture of his hip was beginning to protest louder and the carpet dug irritatingly into the thin skin on the top of each foot. He could feel a breeze in the room as it shifted a strand of hair along his forehead. Muted piano music stung his ears and below it, soft wet sounds and the quiet hiss of an indrawn breath. _What the – were they –_

           “Time,” Yuuri said, and Yuri’s eyes flew open. Viktor still stood casually to Yuri’s right side, examining the nails of one hand. Yuuri sat placidly in the chair, his hair mussed, black strands falling into one eye.

           “Hey!” Yuri cried, mouth falling open. “You were making out!”

           “Hmmmm,” Yuuri hummed, shaking the hair from his eyes and leaning back to look up at Viktor. “Were we?” Viktor shrugged, indifference in every long line.

           Yuri fought off a scowl at the overly innocent expression on the older man’s face. “I thought I was supposed to be ‘refocusing’ or whatever.”

           “You are,” Yuuri said, one side of his mouth curling up.

           “How am I supposed to focus with that going on?!” If they were going to be distracting, they should have the decency to do it when he could watch.

           Yuuri’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing in response. After a moment he stood, put the chair away, and walked back past Yuri, settling himself on the floor next to the sofa with his back resting against it’s cream upholstery. Yuri couldn’t see him any more and though he worried he’d misspoken, he’d be damned if he was going to give in to the urge to turn his head and break the rules again. He could feel Viktor’s eyes boring into the side of his head and he tried to ignore them.

           After a quiet moment, Yuuri’s low voice murmured, “Come here, Yuri.” The deep hidden place in Yuri yearned for that tone, wanted to follow it blindly, tried to convince the rest of him that it would be all right if he did. He moved his eyes over just enough to see the other man, one leg spread out, the other knee propped up supporting a relaxed arm, the dark head resting back against the bright cushion, the eyes heated and focused on Yuri’s own. He was only about three feet away, far too close to stand up and walk but too far to slide across the floor. Yuuri watched his internal debate and when Yuri met his gaze he could see the challenge offered there. He was moving before he could debate any further, turning over his shoulder and crawling the short distance, reeled in by that steady dark gaze.

           “Stop.” Yuri halted a hair’s breadth from Yuuri’s shin, so suddenly that one hand was still in the air and he didn’t know if he should put it down or not. “Do you think you can recreate the position you were in?” Yuuri asked quietly.

           Yuri scoffed. Obviously he could. Viktor’s little arrangement was nothing to the contortions he’d put his body through in the past. He settled back into place, bending legs and arms with Yuuri’s hooded eyes watching him critically. When he had himself set he raised his chin, silently daring Yuuri to find fault with the pose. Yuuri’s eyebrows raised slightly and his lip quirked as his gaze slid over Yuri’s shoulder. Without warning, Viktor’s hands were on him, shortening the angle of a leg, rolling his shoulders further back, adjusting small things until he was satisfied. Yuri tried not to flush and failed.

           “There,” Yuuri smiled when the older man was finished. “Be still now, and find your focus again.” Yuri tried again to feel the grace of his formalized shape. He ran through a mental inventory of his limbs and angles, settling in to the lines and the stretch. As he quieted, Yuuri held a hand out to Viktor who took it and let himself be pulled down to settle into the other man’s lap. It shouldn’t have worked with Viktor’s long limbs but he lolled like a contented puppy against Yuuri’s chest and neatly tucked himself under the other man’s chin, legs sprawling out on either side of Yuri’s bent knees.

           “Oh no you don’t,” Yuuri grinned, nudging Viktor’s head up with his own chin. “No hiding tonight. Arms.” Viktor grumbled lightly but gave in easily, raising his arms to a graceful fifth as Yuuri slid his shirt up and over his head. All attempts at focusing disintegrated in Yuri’s mind as the shirt was tossed to the side and Viktor settled back against his partner, eyes half-lidded, a self-satisfied smile pulling at his lips. He’d seen Viktor half naked a dozen times before – the man seemed allergic to clothes, especially if there was a body of water nearby – but there was something illicit about seeing that endless skin pressed up against Yuuri’s dark sweater.

           “Since you aren’t opposed to the idea of touching,” Yuuri said as he lifted Viktor higher in his lap, positioning the older man as he would a large rag doll, “we should get you used to the…more practical aspects, so they’re not such a surprise. Viktor’s going to help us out. He’s going to sit here and be still so that I can demonstrate. Right, Viktor?”

           “ _Ебать_ Yuuri, yes, anything.” The pupils of Viktor’s eyes were wide and dark, his expression a little dazed. Yuuri stretched up to press his lips to the silver temple and then his gaze settled back on Yuri. Competing whispers in his head urged him either to let go and give in to what he wanted or to protect himself and continue feigning unease with their intimacy. Yuri didn’t know which to listen to at this point, but Viktor seemed more than happy to follow Yuuri’s lead, and Yuri was fairly certain that if they’d wanted him gone for this they’d have kicked him out already. He met Yuuri’s heated, happy gaze, swallowed hard, and let himself sink.

           “There are a hundred different ways to touch,” said Yuuri, “and everyone reacts in different ways. Like I mentioned earlier, Viktor is very tactile.” Yuuri’s hands snaked beneath Viktor’s arms and traced lightly up the ribs encasing his torso. Watching from a foot away, Yuri could almost convince himself he could feel those hands on his own skin. “Conscious touch is an amazing thing, you know.” Yuuri’s voice was smooth as his hands traced a line around the pectorals and skimmed lightly over the hills and valleys of Viktor’s stomach. Yuri could see the muscles fluttering, Viktor trying desperately not to twitch at the light touch. “Simple skin-to-skin contact makes you happier, lowers anxiety and stress, and unclenches tense muscles.”

           Yuuri’s hand paused for a moment, pressing into the side of an abdominal so flexed Yuri could see the deep groove surrounding it. “ _Un_ clenches, Vitya,” he half-whispered into the other man’s ear. “Relax.” Viktor seemed to be holding his breath; he forced it out in a long slow hiss and slowly, his abdomen became lax and languid once again. “Mmmm,” hummed Yuuri, hands sliding over the expanse of skin. “Better.

           “Lack of tension means a lack of strain, and even reduces aggression and cynicism.” Yuuri tossed a private smile towards Yuri and the younger man clenched his palms around his elbows to keep himself from leaning towards them. Yuuri’s fingers pushed down from Viktor’s shoulders into his chest, his thumbs tracing separate lines through the taut skin. Yuri watched the skin move in front of the fingers like waves before a boat. “Touch is soothing. It connects us to each other, and when the touch comes from someone we care for, our brains automatically reduce the production of stress hormones.”

           Viktor met Yuri’s eyes with a playful smile. “Yuuri’s been reading a book about athletes’ brains.” The fingers on his chest moved seamlessly to circle his nipples. Viktor bit his lip and the blue eyes rolled backwards.

           “What was that?” Yuuri purred, one finger sliding in to press a fingernail against the rosy bud. The angle at which Viktor held his head highlighted the bob of his Adam’s apple when he finally replied.

           “I said you’re delightfully smart and you haven’t been repeating facts from your book all week.”

           “Hmmmm,” hummed Yuuri, his finger increasing its pressure as Viktor squirmed, one leg curling up to brush against Yuri’s hip. “It’s interesting actually, Yuri. Your brain interprets touch as a reward, so when you take it away…” A loud whine escaped Viktor’s throat as Yuuri disengaged, withdrawing his hands completely and leaving Viktor slumped against his shoulder. Bereft, the silver head turned and nudged the brunet.

           “Yuuuurrri, I’m sorry,” demurred Viktor, the playful smile flitting around his mouth. Yuuri seemed to be fighting back a smile of his own, his heated brown eyes focused for once fully on Viktor.

           “Are you going to behave?” he asked

           “Oh certainly.”

           Yuuri watched him for a moment, seeming to evaluate his response. Then he leaned forward and captured Viktor’s lips in a searing, open-mouthed kiss that brought a flush to both their cheeks. When they eventually pulled apart, Yuuri resettled Viktor under his chin, smiling brightly and tacitly ignoring the way Yuri’s jaw hung open, dazed.

           The hands resume tracing firmly across Viktor’s clavicles and down into the valleys between his muscles. Yuuri was speaking half into Viktor’s ear now, his lip occasionally catching the shell and making Viktor twitch breathlessly, only a sliver of bright blue visible between his lashes.

           “Skin should be nurtured,” Yuuri murmured, “muscles massaged.” Yuri watched, enraptured, imagining the feeling of Yuuri’s warm breath on his own ear, the pink tongue occasionally catching wet and hot against his earlobe. “You can alternate between deeper pressure and light stroking. Firm, light circles help to increase circulation. It will calm the body, calm the mind. Blood pressure lowers, heart rate slows.”

           Yuuri grinned suddenly as his fingers traced the line of skin just under Viktor’s waistband. “At least, it _should_ slow. Vitya, your pulse is racing, what could be the matter?” He mouthed the words against the older man’s neck as it stretched into him. “Try breathing slower.” Yuuri winked at Yuri and the younger man felt his own pulse skip hard.

           Yuri could see the effect of Yuuri’s attention as Viktor’s diaphragm pulsed, trying to get his breathing under control. Before he managed it, Yuuri’s hand dipped below the waistband again and all Yuri could see was the reflection of the digits beneath the dark fabric. The moan Viktor let out was guttural and needy, and a too-similar noise echoed out of Yuri’s chest. He felt himself straining towards them and only just caught his knee before it shifted forward. Yuuri’s eyes flicked up to him from beneath feathery dark lashes, watchful and expectant. Proud of his restraint, Yuri raised his chin minutely and Yuuri grinned. His wrist twisted and Viktor’s stomach tightened, but all Yuri could see was burning brown and all he could hear was the rush of his own uneven heartbeat.

           Yuri blatantly ignored the tinny voice in his head that told him to close his half-open lips, do something about his wide hungry eyes. He felt like an over-tightened guitar string, vibrating with dissonant energy. There was a flush under his skin that made him slack, and a burning ache in his shoulders that only urged him to pull them back further. Every time he caught Yuuri’s eyes on him, he preened, enjoying the way the other man’s gaze lingered on his exposed arms, his lean waist. He could feel the faint sheen of sweat at his hairline; if he dared to lick his lips, he thought they’d be salty. Those irresistible brown eyes held him in thrall, even as Yuuri bent his head to lick the hollow where Viktor’s neck met his shoulder.

            Yuuri let out a deliciously pleased hum and Yuri had to close his eyes momentarily. He wanted to tattoo that sound on his eardrums, he wanted to build a home in it. He breathed deeply, trying to dispel the tight clench in his lower abdomen and failing miserably. He shouldn’t have bothered; as he opened his eyes, he could see Yuuri’s pink tongue dancing over the fingertips of his free hand. As he watched, Yuuri lowered them to Viktor’s neglected nipple and paused. He arched one dark brow at Yuri, waiting. Shaking himself from his daze, Yuri’s eyes raked down to where the ghost of Yuuri’s other hand had stilled then back up to meet his ready gaze. Enjoying the small bit of power ceded to him, he let the seconds stretch out and then finally nodded. Yuuri’s fingers rolled the pink pebble, pulled it away from the taut flesh. The tendons in his other forearm stood out as his grip clenched and Viktor cried out, turning his face into Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri beamed, his eyes never leaving the green stare

            “Fuck that’s hot,” Yuri burst out. Surprise flitted across Yuuri’s face as his hands faltered, but Viktor laughed throatily and brought his head back up. Blushing adorably, Yuuri pressed a kiss to Viktor’s jaw. The older man hummed and looked over at Yuri with glittering eyes.

           “He’s not wrong, Yuuri,” Viktor mused, leaning in to his partner as Yuuri’s hands disengaged and circled his waist. “He’s also not being completely still.”

           Affront surged in Yuri’s chest _how dare he_. Yuri knew exactly where his limbs were and he opened his mouth to protest the unfair accusation. Then he caught the pointed downward flick of the blue gaze and his teeth snapped shut. Even the looseness of his sweats wasn’t enough for the combined weight of the angle of his knees and seeing the two of them together like this. He felt the blush rise through his throat and up his cheek. Yuuri and Viktor looked at each other and grinned wide. Yuuri surveyed the younger man, taking in the fluttering torso, the twitching shoulders, the straining thighs.

           “Yuri,” he said, voice fond and tempting, “you’re doing wonderfully, sitting still and focusing just how I asked. I only have one more thing to ask of you, and if you can answer it then I think you’ll have earned a bit of a reward.”

           Yuri perked up, pushing the blush and Viktor’s too observant comment to the back of his mind. One thing more was easy, it was nothing. One thing more and then maybe, maybe…

           “Yuri, why do you always retch whenever Viktor and I show affection in public?”

           Yuri blinked. It took a moment to gather enough thoughts together to interpret what he’d heard. That couldn’t be what Yuuri wanted of him. Surely he would have some task, some thing for Yuri to complete or do to prove that he was worth the time, worth their attention. Yuri’s brows knitted, his puzzlement mounting. Wasn’t he doing what Yuuri wanted already? Was he not doing it right? If he wasn’t, why didn’t Yuuri just say so? Did he not think Yuri could listen, could do whatever he asked?

           “Does it gross you out?” Yuuri’s voice pressed into the younger man’s thoughts, churning now where they had been so blessedly still just a moment before. “Offend you in some way?”

           This wasn’t right, couldn’t be right. Why did he want to know? It didn’t matter, it wasn’t anything that mattered. There was hair in his eye; he ran an agitated hand through the locks to push them away, forgetting for a moment that they were shorter now and would fall right back into his face. He caught Yuuri’s gaze then, troubled and somehow disappointed. Disappointed in him? How had he fucked this up so quickly when every thing had been so good? Then he saw his hand hovering in front of him and he knew. It dropped to his side. He raised his gaze and caught Yuuri’s. He thought he may have seen a sadness in those brown depths but it was quickly covered. Yuuri shook his head minutely.

           “Close your eyes, Yuri.”

           “Katsuki, come on!” Yuri cried, snapping his arm back into place, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “That’s a dumb question. Plus, you’re cheating!”

           “We’re not competing,” Yuuri replied, “and you know the rule.”

           “But I-“ Yuri bit off the rest of the retort that remark deserved, fighting off a scowl. The look in Yuuri’s gaze did not invite disagreement. Yuri didn’t want to answer the question and he did know the rule. He closed his eyes. “Fine.”

            “Thirty seconds,” Yuuri intoned, “starting now.”

           This time, the moan pulled from Viktor’s throat was unbearably tantalizing and matched by one of Yuuri’s own, deep and organic and sinful. The muscles in Yuri’s abdomen clenched and he didn’t try to stop the twist of his lip. This was _torture_ , fuck this isn’t what he’d wanted, he’d just been caught off guard by the question, he wanted to see, wanted to know why Yuuri suddenly sucked in breath so sharply, what made Viktor’s voice hitch like that. This was lasting _forever_. Viktor’s foot bumped against him like it was scrabbling for purchase and Yuri sobbed, frustrated and destitute and goddamn it he _couldn’t anymore_.

           “Ебать, jesus, oKAY!”

           “Open your eyes.” Yuuri had one arm looped around Viktor’s shoulders from behind, the other was god-knew-where. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

           “It’s-” Yuri wanted to bury his face in his hands, in _anything_ if it meant he didn’t have to look at them. _Fuck goddamn this was hard_. “It’s just. _Yeugh_. I don’t… _fuck_ _дерьмо_ _ебать_ _ебать_ -“

           “Yura.” Viktor frowned at the language.

           “It’s _happy_!”

           Yuuri froze, his open face a mask of confusion. “You don’t like us showing affection because it means we’re happy?”

           Yuri squeezed his eyes shut and buried them in the heels of his hands. He was breaking form but he couldn’t care. He felt like he was fracturing, like he’d been wrapped in a warm cocoon and now he was tossing it aside and handing Yuuri a knife handle first. The right words wouldn’t come to his brain and the wrong ones battered against the inside of his skull, demanding to be let out. Yuuri’s worried voice floated in the distance. “Yuri, say something, talk to us.”

           “No, it’s…,” he forced out, giving in and letting his fractured thoughts have full control over his voice, “ _happy_ is just…that’s…it’s stupid, it’s whatever. I don’t care about that. Fuck on the ice, see if I care. It’s that - just, this is like, a whole life now? And, that’s whatever but what about before? And family is time and so is skating so where is the…but the Federation won’t even…and you’re both ancient so it’s not like you’ll be… Do you even want to compete anymore? It’s stupid, ‘cause why would you just give up when I’m right here? Why would you…are you leaving? Do you not need the ice anymore? How can you be satisfied with that? How can that be enough for you? Do you want me to just skate against no one? There’s no one out there, what am I supposed to… why would you just –”

           “Yuri. Breathe.”

           Yuuri’s pale hand grabbed Yuri’s rigid right fingers, pulling his hands from his face. Viktor’s graceful digits laced into his left. The stream of words stopped on the breath frozen in his throat. He tried to follow Yuuri’s instruction. He could feel the blood beating a baseline from his forehead to his feet.

           “Where do you think we’re going?”

           “I don’t know.” His strained breathing made his voice small, a mewl instead of a roar. He hated it. “People go.”

           “Well,” offered Viktor, squeezing his hand, “as I’ve always said – we’re nothing if not exceptional.” His rock-star smile flashed and was gone. His eyes were soft and the gaze that took in the young man was gentle. “We fell in love, Yuri, but that doesn’t mean we changed who we are. We don’t want to leave our friends.”

           Yuuri readjusted his grip on Yuri’s softening fingers, holding firm. “Yuri, our focus is on the ice, just as it’s always been. More so now, for me at least. Especially seeing you out there practicing, getting somehow even better every day.” He smiled, soft, fleeting, a little melancholy. “Neither Viktor or I are going anywhere any time soon. I have no intention of letting you keep that Grand Prix record and I think Viktor wants his European championship back.” Yuri felt as fragile as a snowflake, liable to melt at first touch, but he could hear the heat of rivalry in the other man’s voice when he mentioned Yuri’s record. Yuri latched on to that heat and began to drag the pieces of himself back together.

           Viktor’s grin was more genuine this time. He took in the doubt still lingering at the edges of Yuri’s eyes and ran his thumb along Yuri’s pinky. It somehow loosened the breath in his throat, letting air flow more freely.

           “If you want it in black and white, Yurochka, I’m locked into sponsorship contracts for two more years so I can’t go anywhere. Plus, Yuuri’s still got four more world championships to win and, as his coach, I cannot let him slack off.” Yuuri rolled his eyes and a weak laugh punched its way out of Yuri’s chest at his obvious exasperation. The tension easing, Yuuri seemed to think it safe to release Yuri’s hand and reached out to push the hair out of the boy’s eyes.

           “Sweet Yurochka. Have you been worrying about this all summer?” Yuri shook his hair back, conveniently allowing Yuuri’s fingers to caress his face instead.

           “Shut up.”

           Yuuri’s smile grew. “Come here,” he murmured, and Yuri went.

           Everything he’d seen demonstrated on Viktor earlier he now felt firsthand and it was different as shadow and sun. Yuuri’s mouth was on his, fierce, ravenous, and Viktor’s hands were tugging the tank top off his shoulders and down past his waist. Yuuri’s sinewy arms turned him and Yuri practically swooned at the easy demonstration of strength. Yuuri settled the smaller body into his lap where Viktor had lounged moments before, his mouth latching on to Yuri’s throat. Yuri cried out; it was hot and possessive and it sent a shock of fire through the core of him. He wilted under the pressure of Yuuri’s lips, Yuuri’s tongue, and was immensely happy he no longer had to support his own weight. Viktor had one hand in Yuuri’s hair and one latched on to Yuri’s nipple while his tongue lathed the other. The rough attention sent sparks of electric heat straight to his cock but Yuri was beyond trying to hide it. His back arched against the sudden rasp of Viktor’s sharp teeth but Yuuri’s strong arm snaked around his hips, pressing him back, keeping him put. Yuri curbed his riotous muscles to keep him in place and Yuuri hummed that delicious pleased noise, licking up the side of his neck and latching on to Yuri’s earlobe. An explosion went off in his head and he groaned, his nerves thrumming, all thought and reason scattered. Yuri closed his eyes, leaned against the steady solid weight of Yuuri’s chest – _generous, beautiful Yuuri_ – and gave himself over to wave after wave of sensation.

            The hand resting on his abs slid down, slipping under the waistband of Yuri’s sweats to wrap firmly around his hard cock. Yuri whimpered long and low. This was better than he could ever have imagined, the heat of Yuuri’s hand incredible, like the beach on a summer day, like the sun. Viktor shimmied the sweats down his legs, tossing them to the side and running his hands up Yuri’s legs. Yuri twitched and groaned when the hand skimmed his injury, the pain blending into something dark and luscious in his brain. If his eyes had been open, he would have seen the glance the other two men shared at his reaction, but his mind was focused solely and completely on the hand stroking his cock.

           “Open your eyes and look,” Yuuri whispered hot in his ear. Yuri did, giving himself a moment to bring the room into focus before glancing down the lean line of his torso. His eyes caught on the vision of Yuuri’s fingers sliding slowly down his hard, flushed cock and he swallowed hard on a groan. Just beyond that beautiful sight he could see Viktor, eyes dark and hungry, laying between his sprawled legs, his long athletic body spread out behind him without a stich of clothing to ruin the view. Yuuri slid his hand up to the tip of Yuri’s cock and off with a little twist of the wrist that sent stars skidding across Yuri’s vision. As he brought his hand up, Yuri blushed to see that it was wet with his own precum. From the corner of his eye, Yuri saw Yuuri’s tongue dart out and lick the liquid from his hand and it was a miracle that he didn’t explode right then and there.

            “He wants to suck you,” Yuuri breathed, “but you have to tell him to do it.” Yuri thought he’d never stop blushing and irritation at his own embarrassment swept him. He wanted this, desperately, why were the words stuck in his throat? Viktor’s fingers traced little circles in the hairs at the top of Yuri’s thigh and a savage want roared in his chest.

           “Say it, tiger.” Yuri’s cock twitched against his stomach. He fought to keep his eyes from rolling back, struggled to make contact with the blue. Viktor’s mouth was rosy, his breath was warm. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he held Yuri’s gaze, his eyes narrowing in a friendly challenge. The craving in Yuri sharpened dislodging the tightness of his throat.

           “Come on then, Vitya. Suck me.”

           The arm Yuuri threw around his shoulders was the only thing that kept Yuri grounded as scorching heat enveloped the heart of him. Viktor’s mouth slid down his shaft in one smooth motion, locking around the width of his cock and sucking greedily. The pressure increased right to the edge of painful, then backed off again as Viktor wrapped fingers around the base and stroked. The overwhelming sauna-like heat pulled a loud broken cry from Yuri, and Yuuri groaned behind him. Yuri could feel his hardness pressing into his back as he settled into the older man’s lap and Yuuri’s forehead dug into his shoulder.

           “God, Yuri,” he said, shaking his head, “you don’t know what you do to me.” But Yuri did, because he could feel it too.

           Silver hair flopped against his abdomen and Yuri reached out to push it back, curious if he could stand both feeling and seeing that searing heat. He almost couldn’t. He could trace the deep hollow of Viktor’s cheeks, see the obscene way his red lips flared as he pulled up to the tip of his cock. He suckled at the tender head, circled it with his tongue, flicked the underside, and swallowed it down again. Yuri’s hips pulsed up slightly and as Viktor absorbed the motion, Yuri’s mind filled with a dozen new possibilities.

           “Sucking cock is everything to him,” Yuuri purred against Yuri’s ear and Viktor moaned, sending deep vibrations through the younger man. Yuri strained against the restraining arm, could see the muscles along his torso swell and contract as he pushed further into Viktor’s ready mouth. Yuuri’s teeth grazed the heavy pulse in his neck. “You look beautiful like this, Yura.”

           Yuri turned his face into Yuuri’s neck, unexpectedly overcome. Yuuri’s voice was everything, Yuuri’s warmth, Yuuri’s lips against his skin. He was ripe and brimming and laughing and Yuri wanted to burrow into his neck and hide there forever. There was a luminosity, a glow to Yuuri’s skin; he was radiant with it. It suffused the room. He was a star, and his light lit them both. Yuri breathed in sharply through his nose, smelling sweat and man. Yuuri’s hand rose to the other side of his head, threaded its way into his hair and pulled. His throat was laid bare for the older man and Yuuri devoured the delicate skin there, mouthing along his slamming pulse and up along his sharp, proud jaw. Yuri stretched, displaying as much skin as possible.

           “Yura, god,” Yuuri’s voice sounded as wrecked as Yuri felt, “your neck is so tempting. There’s so much power here, every time you throw your jaw up it’s so flipping arrogant but I just want to devour you.” Yuri’s hand clutched at the soft cloth encasing Yuuri’s hip and the rock hard muscle underneath, digging his fingers in, desperate for grounding as he hurtled toward the edge. A new heat enveloped the head of his cock and Yuri could just see Viktor’s head sinking out of the corner of his eye, could feel a fiery, intense suction. He whimpered; he was so close. Yuuri murmured to him, fingers tight against his scalp.

            “How does it feel, tiger?” His voice thrummed, steady and hard.

           Emotion rolled over Yuri in a wave and his response was a frantic whimper. “So good, it feels so fucking good.”

           “Do you like it?”

           “Ебать да Yuuri, I love it.” The suction was unrelenting. He could feel the control slipping from his grasp.

           “Do you want to come?”

           Yuri squeezed his eyes shut against the clamoring tide inside him, the seductive rasp of Yuuri’s voice. “Yes, god, yes да.”

           “You need to ask for it.”

           “Aahh проклятие, пожалуйста, да…”

           “Yuri…”

           “Yuuri please,” he desperately babbled, “пожалуйста let me come, Бог, мне нужно I'm so close please can I—”

           “Yes, you’re so good, come for us Yuri.”

           Yuri exploded, crying out as he shattered. He fell over the edge in a stream that felt never ending, trusting that he would land whole and sated in their arms.

            He was floating, boneless, pliant and heavy as dough. Vaguely he felt Yuuri lower him gently to the carpet, pulling a throw blanket from the sofa to wrap around him. He melted against the ground, reveling in the bone-deep stillness of his body. He felt Yuuri begin to pull away but Yuri clung to his arms, not yet willing to abandon the warm closeness of the other man’s embrace. He opened his eyes to see Yuuri smiling down at him, sweet and affectionate, and somehow he managed to smile back. He thought it probably looked pretty dopey and couldn’t bring himself to care.

           “You did so well,” Yuuri praised, arranging errant strands of blond hair out of the younger man’s eyes and pressing his lips to the flushed brow. “So gorgeous, Yura, strong and brilliant and good.” Yuuri fussed with the blanket, smoothing and making sure it covered all of him, and Yuri let him. Viktor moved up next to him, silver hair falling over half his flushed face. His lips were rosy and he grinned softly, that look of self-congratulatory gratification that was so classically Viktor pasted across his face. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Yuri’s temple. Viktor murmured Russian in his ear, pet names and praise and words for tiny small things that were usually reserved for children’s toys and baby animals. Yuri wanted to hate it but he didn’t, couldn’t find where the anger usually sat pooled in him. Their shared native language was a tiny cove he could snuggle into, a beautiful sunlit window bench where he could curl up and not worry about misconjugations or giving undue offense. He was languid and loose, removed from the burden of thought and care. His thoughts drifted, not settling on anything in particular, for once a happy blank.

            Yuuri pushed a hand absently through Viktor’s hair as he bent over Yuri, whispering to the younger man in the syllables of his childhood. He watched the two incredibly talented men beneath him and his throat tightened. It was so rare to see them still like this. They were normally both so resolute, neither allowing any downtime, two world-class athletes operating at the very pinnacle of artistic endeavor. They had been thrown together by chance, gifted children expected to be both teammates and rivals, vying for the support of a proud nation that would accept nothing but the best in the world. Each carried the same dream of immortality, the same self-imposed weight of continual perfection. And yet here they were, guard let down, loose and open and tender and _his_ alone. Affection rose in his chest and his hand stilled.

           Viktor looked up from where Yuri lay drifting, and there was an achingly familiar hunger in his impossibly blue eyes. Yuuri’s fingers clenched in his hair, pulling his head back to ravage his mouth. Viktor opened for him, meeting Yuuri’s ardor with his own. He tasted salty and Yuuri groaned.

           Viktor broke off the kiss, hand coming up to grip the corded forearm. “Yuuri, ебать please, I want you inside me.”

           Yuuri’s cock twitched and it was a struggle to shake his head. “No, Vitya, you have that sponsor exhibition tomorrow and you don’t need to be sore.” Viktor’s pouted and Yuuri couldn’t help but reach out a thumb and caress the rosy tint of that recently abused lip. The expression in the blue eyes was halfway between pleading and demanding and Yuuri _craved_. “Come here.”

           He let go of Viktor’s hair and pushed him onto his back, using his free hand to reach down and press Viktor’s legs up so that his knees rested against his torso. A whine reverberated in Viktor’s throat but Yuuri shushed, distracted by the bounty suddenly revealed to him, the angry red of Viktor’s hard cock, the tight pucker of his hole. He let himself be enraptured all over again by his partner’s beauty, by the grace of his long limbs, his easy curves and sharp angles, the way the lines of his musculature shifted beneath his skin. He met Viktor’s eyes to see a knowing grin teasing the edges of the older man’s smile.

           “God, Vitya,” he murmured, hands smoothing up the fuzzy backs of Viktor’s thighs, up to the hard curves of his calves, and back again. “You’re a vision.”

           “Yuuurrri, please,” Viktor keened, hands coming up to grip the backs of his knees, pulling them flatter against his chest. “I need you.”

            “I know, 恋しい,” Yuuri breathed, dropping his fingers to Viktor’s waiting mouth. “Get them wet.” The older man obeyed with enthusiasm, his tongue darting between each finger, coating them in saliva.

           While Viktor worked, Yuuri used his other hand to push down the waistband of his pants, freeing his hard cock. He stroked it slowly, relishing the touch he’d been staving off for what felt like hours. He thought about pausing to take off his clothes but quickly rejected the thought. He’d teased Viktor enough for one night and his love deserved the all the attention he’d earned as quickly as Yuuri could give it to him. Plus, Yuuri was appreciating the imbalance of being dressed while Viktor wore nothing, enjoying the feel of the waistband tucked tight up under his balls.

           When his fingers were wet enough he pulled them out of Viktor’s mouth with a lewd pop, but instead of dropping to the fluttering hole, Yuuri slicked up his hard length and used his free hand to push at Viktor’s thigh.

           “Up a little more, and push them together,” he instructed and Viktor moaned, realization dawning. He let go of his knees and held his thighs upright, letting his shins drop together to the side. Yuuri blessed the muscles he’d caressed earlier for letting the other man hold the position so easily and took his cock in hand, settling it snug between soft skin and hard muscle. He started a slow rolling thrust that slid along Viktor’s taint, the soft fur of his balls tickling the puckered hole and his hot cock grazing the base of Viktor’s, the tip disappearing between his silky thighs. Viktor’s head fell back against the carpet, his throat pulsing with a low moan. The slick of spit and their combined precum created a hot channel and Yuuri knew he wouldn’t last long. He bucked powerful, well-trained hips into the tight heat of Viktor’s thighs. Their internal rhythms automatically matched pace and they moved in tandem, each racing toward his end.

           A hand threaded through the silver hair sticking to Viktor’s forehead and Yuuri saw that Yuri had rolled into the older man’s side, curled up and curious, an artless and still somewhat dazed smile flitting around his mouth. Yuuri couldn’t help himself; he bent down and captured those lips in a hungry kiss. Yuri squeaked in surprise but he returned the kiss enthusiastically, and his eyes were soft when Yuuri pulled away. The younger man returned his attention to Viktor as the other man gasped and he dropped kisses on Viktor’s shoulder, his clavicle, the base of his straining neck.

           Viktor’s eyes begged for more and Yuuri wanted to give it to him, give everything to him. He leaned forward, bracing a hand next to Viktor’s shoulder, careful to avoid hitting Yuri’s head. “Squeeze, Vitya,” he urged, hand caressing Viktor’s flank and he cried out as the other man obeyed. The constriction was overwhelming. Yuuri’s cheek was flushed, his mouth open as he breathed through the incredible heat. Viktor cried out, the teasing glances against his aching cock driving him mad. Yuri reached out questing fingers and flicked one hard nipple. The air caught audibly in Viktor’s throat.

           “Vitya, look at you,” Yuuri breathed, his rhythm beginning to stutter. “You’re so gorgeous when you’re desperate and needy like this”

           Viktor sobbed, his cock dripping and his legs beginning to shake. “Ahhh Yuuri fuck me, пожалуйста you’re so проклятие magnificent, could barely keep it together watching you, ты такой хороший…”

           Yuuri reached out and smoothed Viktor’s hair back, pushing to make his thrusts harder, longer for the other man. “So good for me, Vitya, so strong, so giving”

           “Yuuri, Yuuri, please,” Viktor reached up and grabbed the arm by his head, latching his fingers around it and holding on. “I’m so close.”

           Yuuri was nearly there himself but he wanted to see Viktor’s release. He gathered precum from the head of his cock, reached down, smeared it around the puckered entrance, and pressed two fingers inside. The burn was sharp, given Viktor’s hiss and the way his legs jerked tighter together. Yuuri’s lips chased down Viktor’s to swallow the cry and his fingers pressed deeper, finding his prostate. Yuuri bucked hard once, twice, and pressed deep, assaulting Viktor’s prostate from both sides and Viktor cried out, his fingernails biting into Yuuri’s arm and his thighs tightening in jerky spasms as he came across his stomach.

           Yuuri moaned at the sudden compression, his hips stumbling out of rhythm as he neared his own completion. He thrust erratically, blindly seeking that hot friction, and his attention was drawn by Yuri’s hand tripping across Viktor’s chest to swirl in the droplets of cum there. Seeming to have forgotten the other two were there, Yuri brought his finger to his mouth as they watched and his tongue darted out to lap it up. Yuuri groaned and as Yuri took the fingertip into his mouth, Yuuri could take no more. All composure gone, he snapped his hips forward and cried out his release, adding his own cum to the pool on Viktor’s chest. Exhausted, he collapsed between the bodies of his lovers, a heartbeat echoing in each ear, and he let his eyes drift closed, a soft smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

           “This is like moving a whole gym back full of skates. He’s just all solid muscle and I’m not sure any of it’s connected.” Viktor smiled indulgently as he held the door open and Yuuri felt his way into their bedroom, his vision obscured by the completely passed out blond sprawled in his arms. Yuuri angled the body carefully to avoid the doorframe and had to hitch Yuri’s legs up again before stumbling over and collapsing on the bed. He rolled the young skater off his lap and flipped up his legs to keep him from slipping off. Burning up and with muscles still overheated from exertion, Yuuri peeled his sweater from his chest, used it to dab the sweat from his forehead, and tossed it into the hamper in the corner. He turned and looked down, taking in Yuri’s half-open pink mouth and the features of his face, smoothed and softened in sleep. Fighting off inexplicable tears, Yuuri stretched out next to the younger man and rested against his cool shoulder.

           “He eats mostly junk food, I’m not sure what he’s building muscle out of,” mused Viktor as he tossed the towel they’d used to clean themselves up in the general direction of the hamper. He turned around to see his partner entwined with their guest and smiled, part exasperated, part charmed.

           “Do you want anything to drink?” he asked, knowing Yuuri would probably be parched after their long evening.

           Yuuri nodded from his pillow on Yuri’s shoulder. “I don’t want to move though. He’s so warm and soft. How is he so soft with all these bony limbs?”

           Viktor shook his head and leaned down to lay a chaste kiss on the dark hair. “You stay put. I’m going to run to the kitchen.”

           Yuuri smiled and was about to nestle back into Yuri chest when the bed shook violently.

           “Ouch!” cried Viktor from where he’d stumbled into the bedframe. He reached down and rubbed his foot, looking back at Yuuri with a rueful expression. “I found that chew toy we were looking for earlier.”

           Yuuri glanced at the younger man anxiously but his deep breathing was unchanged. “I think we’re okay,” he told Viktor as the other man stood and bent over them to check himself. “He really is completely out.”

           Viktor smiled and smoothed back the golden hair, then the black. “You really are a genius, Yuuri. Did you learn all that at school?”

           “Well, not _all_ that,” Yuuri blushed, “but we learned about stress and tension and all that. When he started staring daggers through his plate at dinner, he was just so tightly wound – I actually thought he was going to snap at me when I opened the door.” Yuuri’s shifted his gaze to the sleeping boy beside him. “So often he looks exactly like I used to feel before a competition. I wasn’t sure he’d let us help him.” His voice trailed off, his fingers lacing into Yuri’s and pulling a hand up to rest on his chest.

           Viktor chuckled softly. “I wasn’t sure either. I don’t think he minded in the end, though. I hope Otabek’s a kinky bastard; this one’s libel to wear him out.”

           Yuuri smiled. Viktor was probably right about that, though Yuuri wouldn’t be the one to say it to Yuri’s face. His fingers played with the shorn locks, so similar now to what they’d been when he and Yuri had first met.

           “What made you think of the head massage?” he asked Viktor, curious. One silver eyebrow rose, and Viktor shrugged.

           “Just when he mentioned getting a haircut. My mother used to do it for me when I was keyed up after competing.”

           Yuuri grinned to think of Viktor as a boy, all bright excitement and vitality and unbridled energy. He must have run his poor mother to distraction, the blessed woman. Yuuri’s gaze dropped from the blue that he loved so dearly to trace along the wide-flung limbs of the younger enigma. Yuri was calm in his sleep, his heart beat slow and steady, his tongue silent, his mind still.

           “Look at him,” Yuuri mused, not caring at all if Viktor could hear the fond note in his voice. “He’s just another teenager when he sleeps. No stress, no restrictions, no world championship hanging over him. He looks practically sweet.”

           Viktor snorted as he began looking around for his slippers. “He’s a teenage boy, he looks like someone cut the strings of a drunken marionette.”

           “No, he looks sweet!”

           Viktor came back to the bed and the tender look in his eyes made Yuuri melt. “He looks like you when you sleep,” Viktor murmured, reaching out to caress Yuuri’s cheek.

           “Vitya,” Yuuri turned to press a reverent kiss to Viktor’s palm.

           “Sweet Yuuri.”

           Yuuri settled back onto his arm and snuggled into Yuri’s neck, breathing deeply. Everything was quiet and he could feel the rhythm of his own heartbeat, finally slowing to match the one next to him. He fingered the blond hair again and something occurred to him.

           “I can’t believe you couldn’t manage to wait to cut his hair,” he murmured, exasperation slipping in to his sleepy tone. “Now you’re going to have to grow yours out again so I have something to snuggle in to.”

           His eyes were already closed but he heard Viktor’s amused voice float to him from the doorway. “For you, возлюбленный? Anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations via Google Translate:  
> дерьмо = der’mo/shit  
> да = da/yes  
> ебать = blyad/fuck  
> проклятие = proklyatiye/god damn  
> пожалуйста = pozhaluysta/please  
> Бог = bog/god  
> мне нужно = mne nuzhno/I need  
> 恋しい = koishī/dear (beloved)  
> блин = blin/damn (milder form)  
> ты такой хороший = ty takoy khoroshiy/you’re so good  
> возлюбленный = vozlyublennyy/sweetheart (beloved)
> 
> Poem is from Nico Alvarado's "Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls". 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your patience while I finished this - it gave me time to start school again (after 5 years!) and get my brain back into that terrifying head space.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr at velvetandstone :)


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